Dearest Log
by harrishawksuperiour
Summary: During his temporary and partially voluntary exile on Entooine while the First Order regains itself, General Armitage Hux keeps a diary. With neat, curly writing and carefully structured paragraphs; it becomes his only friend, outlet and a source of his anguish after the borderline career suicide that was the destruction of Starkiller Base. It becomes his friend and refuge to cope.


_Dearest Log,_

 _I tried again today but alas, it was in vain. I fell prey to exhaustion after daybreak and to my grating frustration, the food package was there when I awoke. I remain ignorant of who brings this package and how they bring it. I do wonder if this same person will be the one sent to relieve me when the time comes to return to my master's side. If not to satisfy the curiosity, I would like to see this person; purely to assure myself that I am not alone. Starkiller Base claimed more lives than just the Hosnian system and I feel as if I am the only one left; even the boorish grunting of Kylo Ren would be a welcome change from the crackling of the fire and the blizzard outside._

 _I digress. The food package was the same, a side of bantha with a selection of almost frozen vegetables. It seems that exile has not changed my diet and evidently, my master wishes me to remain staunch in my resolve and to maintain my physique as I could be called upon at any point to resume my duties; at least that is what I tell myself. It is a comfort to tell myself that at night when I am too cold to sleep, that I have not been abandoned and replaced with someone who would not fail as I have. I know that would play straight into my father's hands; prove he was right all along and I highly doubt he pines too much for me. I don't think anyone does. In fact, I know so._

 _Every day, I comb the package for some hint of grooming equipment, anything at all. A scissors, a razor or even a brush but there never seems to be anything. It has gotten to the stage where my jaw, chin and neck are constantly itchy from the bristles that I have not allowed to sprout in so long and my (untrimmed) fingernails are randomly caked with blood from scratching absentmindedly. I fear washing in this climate, if I am to be perfectly frank and have not done so in some time. There is no method of heating the water (not well at least) and I am paranoid of being wet and unclothed for too long that I might catch something without access to medical attention and so my hair has also gotten long, unkempt and generally scraggly; it is a mortifying and utterly unpleasant circumstance, seeing as I used to take exceptional pride in my appearance._

 _Dearest Log, I must leave you now. I feel the encroachment of hunger and if the last few nights are anything to go by, it will be hours before I eat, even if I were to begin preparations now. Goodnight, my friend and I hope to speak to you tomorrow._

 _General A. Hux._

* * *

 _Dearest Log,_

 _It is worth reminding myself that even cooking here has consequences. Just the simple task of cooking the bantha meat attracted some unwanted visitors; it seems the local Quohr were attracted by the smell. I keep my blaster by the table beside the door should they come to close but somehow, I doubt it would have little effect on them. Magnificent and all as they are, their hide is not only thick, but their fur is dense which only lends to their prestige and my doubt that should I fire that I would successfully kill one. A number of them prowled the forest outside the cabin for several hours last night so needless to say, I did not sleep. I took that opportunity to watch for the mysterious package-giver but I'm sorry to say, the cycle repeated itself. When I woke, the package was in its usual place and the Quohr had disbanded; I'm not sure if the instances are connected and if I have a guardian as well as a provider. I know your next question and the answer is no, there were no grooming utensils; I am destined to remain scruffy for the foreseeable future._

 _I remain infuriatingly blind; for you see, my dear friend, I am completely ignorant as to how long I am here. I have no idea how much longer my master intends to punish me and clueless of the goings on in the galaxy in my absence. I detest being in the dark; I have always hated it. I wish for nothing more than to be plucked off this Godsforsaken rock and restored to my comfort but I sense that will not happen for some time; if it happens at all. This confinement, this solitude is killing me. Who would have thought that the most suitable way to discipline me was to deprive me of a normal day? Or several of them? I have never prayed, my friend. I have never ghosted any religion with any bare thought or interest but I understand now why some do; helplessness, desperation, isolation. I hope the day will never come for me to descend to such a level that I would ask some all-seeing, all-knowing being for help and I will hold out for as long as I can but I dread to think the day is nearer than I dare assume; despite being against everything I have ever been taught and preached._

 _Dearest Log, I will trouble you no further with my worries tonight but tomorrow is a new day if I live to see it. The nights here are dark and full of terrors but so far, I have survived them to a new food package each time. Goodnight, my friend and thank you for listening._

 _General A. Hux._


End file.
